Invisible Monsters
by lolagirl
Summary: Hermione is engaging in reckless behavior, and the only person who takes notice is the one person who shouldn't care. But everyone is capable of saving a life, even Draco Malfoy.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** It's been quite a long time since I've written a fan fic, and to be honest, I never thought I would write one again. But here I am, uploading a story I just thought of today...one that is not original, but one that I hope you can enjoy nevertheless. It's Draco/Hermione once again – and it's angsty, just like the last one. I have no idea if this story will go anywhere, but I'm giving it a try. I at least owe it that much.

**Disclaimer:** I have nothing to do with the Harry Potter franchise. I just write fan fiction about it.

* * *

Her reflection in the mirror stared back at her with a disapproving glance, and she knew that if the reflection could only talk, it would give her a strong _tsk-tsk _before proceeding to lecture her on how she shouldn't do what she was about to do. And if it had come to that, she would have been ready to defend herself with as much force as needed. 

She stared down at the small object in her hand and sighed, recalling how she'd practically had to sell her soul to obtain it. She had known that she'd have no problem finding someone in Slytherin to supply her with the goods, and she had also known that it would come at a hefty price. But she'd only had so much money to spend on the stuff itself – so in order to pay for his vow of silence in the matter, she had to promise him one date, at the time and place of his choice. She had agreed, reluctantly, hoping that he would eventually forget, or change his mind. After all, why would a Slytherin care to take her on a date? She wasn't pretty, she wasn't popular, and she most certainly was not the kind of girl Slytherin boys found interesting. Perhaps he had only made her agree to a date to scare her. That's what she had managed to convince herself, anyway.

She sighed once more, heavily this time. Magical marijuana. How had it come to this? If someone had told her a year ago that she would one day light up a joint and actually _smoke it_, she would have told that someone that they were certifiably insane. This just wasn't her. Yet there she was, locked in the safety of her bathroom, preparing to do just that. Part of her – the rebel that nobody, not even herself, knew she'd had inside of her – felt a momentary surge of excitement as she brought the neatly rolled paper up to her lips. Another part of her – the sensible part that made up ninety-nine percent of her personality – wanted to drop it onto the floor and stomp on it, then exit out the bathroom door and never look back. And she would have done that, had a small voice inside her head not reminded her of _why_ she was going to do it. And had the voice not reminded her, her shaking hands _would_ have.

"Here goes nothing," she muttered as she placed the joint between her lips. Wanting to get it over with as quickly as possible, she took one big drag, pulling the smoke as deeply into her lungs as she could. Immediately, she was overcome with a fit of coughing and gagging, to the point where she could barely breathe. Her eyes began to water, and her face turned a dark shade of crimson. She doubled over, continuing to cough until her chest hurt and she thought she would pass out. It took nearly a minute for everything to calm down, and by that time she realized she was lying on the bathroom floor.

She pressed her cheek against the cool tiles on the floor and took a deep breath, and then another. Amazingly enough, she was starting to feel different already. After her body got over the coughing fit and she tried inhaling more of the stuff, in moderation this time, she realized why she had purchased it in the first place. Her hands were steady now, and she could feel a mild sense of euphoria creeping up on her. And suddenly, as she realized she was still lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, she began to laugh.

She laughed until her sides hurt and she had tears rolling down the side of her face. She laughed until she realized she had no reason to be laughing, and that's when reality hit her. She sat up and looked down at the joint in her hand. She had almost smoked the entire thing and hadn't even noticed. She stood up and dropped it to the floor, stomping on it to put it out. Once the flame was out, it shriveled up and disappeared. The wonderful thing about magical marijuana was that it not only produced no odor, but it also left no physical evidence behind. No wonder it cost so much.

A sob suddenly escaped her lips, and it caught her by surprise. This stuff was supposed to make her happy, but at the moment all she wanted to do was scream. She took another glance at herself in the mirror, and she hated what was looking back at her. Dark circles surrounded her lifeless, bloodshot eyes. Her hair was frizzier than normal, sticking out in all directions as though she'd had a run-in with a light socket. And her skin was pale and ashen, making her look only slightly better than a corpse. No amount of magical marijuana was going to change her appearance. Perhaps she should have spent her money on a few beauty charms instead, so at least she wouldn't scare the First Years when she arrived at the Great Hall for breakfast.

"Looks are not important," she reminded herself aloud. "And you don't care what anyone thinks about you, anyway." She stood up straight and stared her reflection in the eye. "Now, Hermione Granger, get out there and act alive."

She put on her best smile, the one that looked the least fake, and turned to proceed out of the bathroom. But no sooner had her hand touched the doorknob than she was overcome with a wave of nausea. She quickly dropped to her knees in front of the toilet and emptied out the contents of her stomach, which, since she hadn't eaten since the previous afternoon, consisted only of bile. She assured herself that it was caused by the marijuana, since her body was not used to it.

She assured herself that it was nothing more than that.

* * *

Draco Malfoy woke to the sound of someone coughing. No, not just coughing – more like hacking up a lung. He groaned into his pillow at the disruption of his sleep, despite the fact it was time for him to get up, anyway. He was mostly irritated because the person whose coughing had woken him up was the mudblood Granger. She obviously had no respect for his beauty sleep. Just because she refused to get any of her own, didn't mean she had the right to deprive anyone else of theirs. 

"Stupid bitch," he mumbled into his pillow. If it had been anyone else, he might have been somewhat concerned, but the sound of her coughing actually amused him. It was obviously causing her distress, which in turn made him smile. He would always manage to find humor in her suffering.

By the time he rolled out of bed, the coughing fit had stopped. He wondered briefly if perhaps she was alright, but then realized he didn't really care – other than he was just hoping she was okay enough to leave the bathroom so that he could take a shower.

_She'd better not be contagious,_ he thought as he passed by the bathroom door. It was bad enough having to live with someone who had filthy blood – it may not have been pleasant, but at least it was all internal. He didn't want to have to sit around while she spread her filthy germs over their small living space. He couldn't afford to get sick during Quidditch season.

Since the bushy-haired know-it-all showed no signs of leaving the bathroom anytime soon, Draco sighed and plopped down on the couch. It had been three months since the school year had begun, and three months since he'd been forced to move in with the mudblood. He had wanted to be Head Boy so badly, never considering who would be Head Girl with him. Of course Hermione Granger would be awarded that responsibility – she was Hogwart's top student, and every professor's pet. Well, every professor besides Severus Snape, of course. Draco had been quite surprised, though, that _he_ had been appointed Head Boy, instead of that stupid git Harry Potter. He knew Potter would have loved to be Head Boy, especially since one of his best friends was the Head Girl, and the fact that Draco had taken that opportunity away from him was enough to help him survive living with the mudblood for a whole nine months. He still did not enjoy living with her, but he _did_ enjoy the glares he received from Potter multiple times a day, every time Draco was within even a few feet from Granger.

One of the worst things about living with Granger was sharing a bathroom. While she didn't take as much time getting ready in the bathroom as most girls did (which was very obvious, judging from her appearance every day), she always managed to occupy it first every morning. He wondered just how early she got up – that is, if she even ever went to bed in the first place. Lately, it looked like she hadn't been sleeping at all.

Draco sighed and closed his eyes. He wasn't worried about being late for breakfast, but he _was_ concerned that he would end up falling asleep on the couch before Granger made her exit and end up missing Potions because of it. He considered for a moment going to knock on the door and demand that she hurry up, but he decided against it when he heard what sounded like her vomiting.

"Oh great," he muttered. She was _definitely_ contagious. Perhaps he could crash in the Slytherin tower for a few days until she got over whatever was wrong with her. In fact, _now_ would be a good time to head over there, so as to avoid her when she got out of the bathroom.

He stood up from the couch and was heading for the portrait hole when she finally made her exit, looking like death warmed over. He stopped in his tracks as he took in her appearance. He had never seen her looking so bad before – and that was saying something.

Unable to resist the urge to harass her, he folded his arms over his chest and drawled, "You're looking worse than normal today, Granger. Is that filthy blood of yours finally starting to take its toll on you?"

"Sod off, Malfoy," she replied weakly. She threw him a glare as she walked past him.

"Your eyes are bloodshot," he said. "Is that from staying up all night with your nose stuck in a book? Or from crying yourself to sleep over the fact that Potter and the Weasel don't pay as much attention to you anymore?"

Hermione ignored him as she began throwing books into her bag. She really did not look well at all, and the fact that she was failing to shoot back with any scathing insults only proved how sick she really was.

"Is it safe to go into the bathroom?" he continued. "Or should I cast a disinfectant spell on it first?"

"Do whatever you wish, Malfoy," she said, tossing her bag over her shoulder. Without so much as a glance back, she exited through the portrait hole, leaving Draco staring after her in confusion.

The _only_ decent thing about living with Hermione Granger had been their almost constant bickering. Granger could certainly give him a run for his money when it came to insults, and their banter always provided him with a reasonable amount of entertainment. Plus, it was always more fun when he knew he was getting under her skin. Otherwise, it was a monumental waste of his time. Their interaction this morning, for instance, had served no other purpose than to make him late for breakfast. He couldn't even seem to rile her up at all. It was a shame, really.

With a defeated sigh, he decided to take his chances and head for the bathroom. At least a good shower would provide him with the opportunity of washing the mudblood germs off of him. Maybe by the end of the day she'd be feeling better, and with any luck, maybe he'd be able to make her cry.

* * *

Just as soon as she stepped outside of the portrait hole, Hermione leaned her back up against the nearest wall and stared up at the ceiling. Her body began to shake from her suppressed sobs as she bit her lip to prevent herself from breaking down and crying. She closed her eyes tightly and clenched her fists at her sides. She got like this sometimes, but usually it happened at night, when she didn't have to worry about going to class. Usually she could just throw herself on top of her bed and cry herself to sleep. But she didn't have that luxury today. Today, she would just have to suck it up and deal. 

Taking a few deep breaths to calm herself down, Hermione opened her eyes and quickly brushed away the tears before they could spill over.

It was going to be hard to act alive when she was already feeling dead inside.

* * *

**A/N: **I know, I know - this chapter is very short, and I'm a bit rusty. Just give me some time to get back into the groove. :)

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **I realize it's been about nine months since I've updated this story, so naturally, I feel a little silly updating it now. I mean, will anyone even remember it? Will anyone even care? But once in a while, I remind myself that I started writing two new fan fictions, and I feel guilty that I have abandoned them. The feeling of starting something and not finishing it is…well, it's unsettling. So I would really, really like to see where these stories are going. I've been so busy lately writing my original novel, but I've been having terrible writer's block and I figured perhaps going back to fan fiction for a while would help me out of my rut. So…yeah. I would definitely like to continue with this story, but I think one of my problems is that I had so much success with "A World Apart", I'm afraid that anything that follows it will not meet certain expectations. Grr. But I will try my hardest with this. That is, if anyone is willing to read it. Anyway, enough of my "blah blah blah"s. On with the story.

**Disclaimer:** There is one character in this chapter that I own. I'm just borrowing the rest.

* * *

Hermione stared in disdain across the breakfast table at her best friends. Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, two of the most popular boys at Hogwarts, practically attached at the hip at all times, had barely even acknowledged her when she sat down to eat. Well, actually, she wasn't there to eat. She hadn't touched any of the food yet, and she wasn't planning on it. Her stomach still felt uneasy, and the smell of all of the food was not only making her feel nauseated, but it was also giving her a migraine. So she just sat there, amongst all of her friends, saying nothing...just observing. 

Harry had looked up at her when she sat down. He'd even grunted somewhat of a greeting, and then immediately continued his enthralling Quidditch discussion with Ron, who had ignored her completely. Ginny Weasley, who was sitting beside her, had smiled brightly at her, had even given her a small little wave, but never attempted to spark up a conversation with her, instead turning back to Lavender Brown and giggling over something the latter girl had said.

But Hermione didn't care. She didn't feel much like conversing anyway.

With a defeated sigh, she slowly stood up from the table. She waited a moment, waited for anyone to look up and notice her leaving. It was no surprise to her that no one did. Which was just as well. She didn't want to be given the third degree as to why she was leaving so soon after she'd arrived. What would she have told them? That she no longer enjoyed their company? That she knew _they_ no longer enjoyed _hers_? No, that was one conversation she didn't feel like having with any of them at the moment.

She stalked out of the Great Hall with her shoulders slumped and her head pointed toward the ground. There was a time when she would walk the halls of Hogwarts perfectly erect with her head held high, her nose straight up in the air, undoubtedly giving off snobbish vibes. She never carried herself that way because she'd felt superior to everyone, but because she'd always just had so much confidence in herself. She knew she was smart. She knew she was strong and brave – she had to be, being one of Harry Potter's best friends. And ever since having dated the famous Viktor Krum, she knew she couldn't be all that bad-looking, save for her often unmanageable bushy mane. But even that had grown on her over time, and she became to view her poofy tresses as her trademark.

But now, all of that confidence was gone. She spent everyday with her gaze glued to the floor, hiding her unsmiling face behind that hair of hers, hoping to go by unnoticed by the other students. It had taken quite a while for her to start slipping under everyone's radar, but once she had, it was hard to get anyone to acknowledge her in the hallways. Sometimes, though, she wondered if the other students _did_ notice her, but just chose to avoid her. It didn't really matter either way. She was just happy she was no longer expected to smile and greet everyone she knew when she passed by them in the hallways. Smiling these days was just not an option for her.

No sooner had Hermione exited the Great Hall did she hear her name spoken. The voice was cool and suave, with a hint of arrogance. It was a voice that was not all that familiar to her, but one she recognized from hearing only the day before. She stopped in her tracks as soon as she'd heard it, lifting up her head to see a tall, muscular Slytherin standing before her, a wide grin on his face that was not at all friendly. In fact, it sent chills down her spine, and not the good kind.

"Hermione Granger, fancy meeting you here."

Hermione averted her gaze to focus on the wall behind the boy. "Jasper," she croaked. She immediately wished she hadn't spoken. She hated the way her voice made her sound so weak. If there was one thing you didn't want to show a Slytherin, it was a sign of weakness. They would always be able to use that to their advantage.

The sixth year Slytherin leaned in close, causing Hermione to take a cautious step back. "You've already taken the stuff, haven't you? I can tell by looking at your eyes that it wasn't even that long ago." He paused for a moment to laugh. "My, my. Gryffindor Granger is quite the rebel, getting high before classes." He proceeded to make a "tsk-tsk" sound and shook his head in mock disappointment.

Hermione gulped as she glanced furiously around the hallway, looking to see if anyone was hanging around nearby. The boy had not lowered his voice at all, and if anyone were to overhear their conversation, or even _see_ the two of them conversing…Hermione shuddered to think of what people would think.

"Right," she said meekly. "That's me, I'm a rebel." She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, feeling more than uncomfortable being in the boy's presence.

"Well…" she said, slowly edging away from him. "I have to get going -"

"Not so fast," the Slytherin said, quickly reaching and grabbing her forearm, yanking her backwards and into the wall. Taking one big step forward, firmly pressing his body up against hers, Jasper grasped firmly onto a lock of her hair, leaned down close to her ear and whispered, "When do I get my date?"

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. So he had been serious about the whole date thing after all. Her first instinct was to panic, but she quickly suppressed the urge to. Slytherins, most of the time, were all bark, no bite. Sure, Jasper Collins was a Quidditch player, and for that he was quite built and strong. He would surely have no problem forcing her into a date, even if he had to grab her by the hair and drag her to the location of his choice. But Hermione could take care of herself. As long as she had her wand with her, she could hex him into oblivion if he ever tried anything with her, and he would never even know what hit him.

Deciding to play it cool, Hermione said in a calm manner, "When do you want it?"

The Slytherin chuckled slightly and pressed his face into the side of her neck in a gentle nuzzle. "How about right now?" he hissed into her ear. "I could take you to a place you've never been before – a place you never dreamed existed. I could take you up against this very wall right now if you'd like me to…" His voice trailed off as he gently placed his hand low on her hip, his fingers digging into her flesh through her robes.

His touch held no warmth or intimacy – it was rather cold and demanding, and it ignited a spark of rage inside of her so intense that her whole body shook as she grabbed onto the Slytherin's wrist as tightly as she could, preventing his hand from moving any farther up or down.

The boy grimaced and his face twisted into a pained expression. "Bloody hell, Granger," he hissed. He attempted to remove his wrist from her grip, but to no avail. In fact, his movements just made her tighten her grasp.

"Don't touch me until I tell you that you can touch me," she said in a low, dangerous voice – a voice she barely recognized. She let go of his wrist and the boy look instantly relieved. His other hand immediately began to massage the spot where hers had just been as he stared intently at her. She couldn't tell if he was a bit frightened, or impressed.

"Yes, ma'am," he said finally, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. "I think I'm going to enjoy our date, if this is any indication of how wild you're going to be in bed -"

He had barely gotten the last word out before Hermione reached up and slapped him hard across the face, causing him to stumble back a few feet.

"Fuck!" he cried out, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch his cheek, which was already turning a bright shade of red. "What the hell was _that_ for?"

_For being a vile, disgusting pig!_ she screamed inside her head. Oh, how she wanted to say those words out loud, and then smack him again. But she kept her mouth firmly shut and commanded her hand to remain at her side. Jasper was not someone she wanted to piss off. Not because she was afraid of him, but because of what she would be losing if she did. He had something she wanted. Something she _needed_. And it was at that moment that she realized how good she felt. She felt strong. She felt revived. She felt _alive_.

Slowly, a grin began to form on her face. "Tomorrow," she said simply.

With a slight look of confusion on his face, Jasper removed his hand from his cheek and with narrowed eyes said, "Huh?"

"Tomorrow night. You can have your date tomorrow night," she said.

"Really?" An arrogant smirk crept onto his face. "You're serious?"

Hermione nodded. "I have never been more serious in my life."

"Well," Jasper said with a wiggle of his eyebrows. "I'll see you then. Wear something nice. Or nothing at all."

Hermione had to refrain from lashing out at the boy once again as he turned on his heel and began to walk away from her down the hallway. She had to admit he was somewhat good-looking, although she was never a huge fan of egotistical boys. Viktor Krum had turned her off to guys like that. They were too needy, always wanting to have their egos stroked. Hermione had no patience for nonsense like that. There was no doubt in her mind that Jasper was just like all the rest, but then what did it matter? She was using him, just like he was using her. It was a fair deal.

The bell rang, snapping her out of her reverie. Breakfast was over. Time for class. She remembered the days when she used to look forward to that first ringing bell every morning. For her first six years at Hogwarts, it was her absolute favorite sound. Now, she couldn't have cared less if she ever heard it again. She couldn't care less if she attended another class again.

_Dammit_, she cursed to herself. Her good mood had been short-lived. Slowly, her hand began to form a fist at her side, without her consent. She desperately tried to unclench it…tried to fight the urge to hit something. But there was nothing she could do. Instinctively, her hand shot out and hit the first available object, which happened to be the stone wall in front of her. It hurt like hell as her fist made contact with the hard surface and she cried out in pain. That cry was soon followed by a sob – one, lonely sob – and that sob was then followed by a deep breath. _Just breathe. Count to ten. Just…breathe._

When she was finally able to regain her composure, she started down the hallway. Not in the direction of the classrooms, but in the direction of her own common room.

There was no way she was going to make it to classes today.

* * *

"_Tomorrow."_

"_Huh?"_

"_Tomorrow night. You can have your date tomorrow night." _

"_Really? You're serious?"_

"_I have never been more serious in my life."_

"_Well, I'll see you then. Wear something nice. Or nothing at all."_

To say that Draco was shocked would have been an incredible understatement. If he hadn't just witnessed the exchange between Hermione Granger and Jasper Collins with his own two eyes, he never would have believed it. The mudblood bookworm planning a _date_ with a _Slytherin_? What alternate universe had he woken up in this morning?

He didn't know too much about Jasper. He tried not to pay much attention to underclassmen. But Draco knew enough. He knew that Jasper had fucked his way through the entire female Slytherin population, and that he was currently working his way through Ravenclaw. He also knew of a rumor that Jasper was less than gentle with his female friends, and there were quite a few girls around school with bruises to prove it. Then, there was the somewhat public knowledge that Jasper was a dealer. Somehow, the kid had access to many different magical drugs, and miraculously he had managed to remain under the radar where the professors were concerned. Draco couldn't deny that he was impressed with the kid. Jasper sort of reminded him of himself, but with less charm and less power. And less impressive hair.

So what the hell would_ Granger_ want with a guy like that? He was the complete and total opposite of The-Prince-Of-All-That-Was-Great, Harry Potter. So why would she even lower herself to conversing with the boy – let alone making a _date_ with him?

Draco couldn't help but feel a bit intrigued by the situation. It wasn't the first time Hermione Granger had intrigued him, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Of course, he would never tell anyone that – they would think he had gone completely crazy. But the truth was, he'd never hated Hermione as much as everyone thought he had. He mostly just hated her two best friends, Harry and Ron, and that hatred often just sort of…spilled over onto her. Granted, he didn't _like_ her, either. In fact, it was more like he had absolutely no feelings regarding her whatsoever. He could take her or leave her, really.

He stood silently in the shadows watching the scene in front of him unfold. He watched as Jasper began to walk away. He watched as Hermione remained perfectly still, lost in thought. He watched as she hit the wall with her fist, and he winced when she cried out in pain. And then, he watched as she turned and began to walk in his direction. Quickly, he spun around and flattened himself up against the wall as she rounded the corner so that she wouldn't spot him before he spoke.

"Granger," he said casually as she obliviously walked right past him.

She jumped at the sound of his voice and stopped dead in her tracks. She swiveled her head to the side and glared over at him. "Malfoy."

Pushing himself off the wall, he took a step closer to her. "Cavorting with the enemy are you? What _would_ Potter say?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Sod off, Malfoy."

"And class is in the opposite direction," he continued, a smirk slowly forming on his face. "So why, pray tell, are you heading in _this _direction when class is just about to start?"

"I do not need to explain myself to you, Malfoy," she replied coldly.

She began to walk away, but he couldn't let her. Not when his curiosity regarding her had reached an all-time high. Reaching out, he grabbed her arm firmly to prevent her from taking another step forward.

"Oh, I think you do," he growled, yanking her back a couple of steps.

Surprisingly, she was able to pull her arm out of his tight grip. When had the mudblood become so strong?

They stared at each other for a moment, sending death glares back and forth, until finally Hermione spoke up, in a surprisingly cool voice, "I'm not feeling well, alright?"

Draco lowered his gaze to her hand, which was starting to turn a light shade of purple. "Is that so?" He paused for a moment. "What's _with_ you, Granger? You haven't been acting yourself lately. You've been even less intolerable than you normally are."

He expected her to spout an angry comeback at him, like she used to be so good at doing, but instead she just frowned and shook her head slowly. "Just let our professors know I won't be coming to class, will you?"

Draco blinked at her in surprise. Her voice had sounded weak…defeated, almost. "Uh…yeah," he responded, not knowing what else to say. He loved getting under her skin, but it just wasn't as fun when she didn't fight back. And it certainly wasn't like her to not fight back.

"Thanks," she mumbled as she turned to leave.

Draco let her go, not attempting to stop her this time. He watched her walk, somewhat unsteadily, down the remainder of the hallway. Once she was out of sight, Draco sighed and folded his arms over his chest. Farther down the hall he could hear the distant chatter of students piling out of the Great Hall, making their way to class, and the fact that Hermione Granger was not among those students was a bit too abnormal for Draco. He couldn't recall that girl _ever_ missing a class, for _any_ reason.

Something strange was going on with Hermione, he was sure of it, and he was going to find out what it was. Perhaps, with any luck, it would be something he would be able to use to blackmail her with.

With that thought, Draco smiled. Later, he would have to have a _chat _with Jasper Collins.


End file.
